


thinking about the boy with blue eyes

by AshesandWind



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion, Rebuild of Evangelion | Evangelion: New Theatrical Edition
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, kaworu being needy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesandWind/pseuds/AshesandWind
Summary: kaworu thinking about his boy in a quite moment





	thinking about the boy with blue eyes

When all is said and done Kaworu goes back and collapses, huddled against the stark white walls of the sterile apartment NERV had issued him that very afternoon. A stern faced guard had earlier offered to give directions for navigating the complex burrow of empty corridors, but Kaworu declined his help; he had been here many, many times before.

This might be the fourth time but everything is still the same: SEELE is cold and Gendo Ikari is colder still, frozen in the arms of his dead wife. Kaworu only wakes up when SEELE wants him to, far later than he’d prefer, and with one purpose only. He is still the same. Even sitting here now Kaworu can feel Him, grasping and clawing at his soul, a dark and dangerous whisper underlying every thought and breath: come down. come down. tabris. come home.

The only time it ever stopped was when Kaworu listened to music. When his fingers turned the familiar dials of SEELE’s work-issued radios and tapped into the outside world, where music was waiting. Beethoven and Bach and Schubert and Handel, authors of a language that transcended humanity, that encapsulated it. A language that could make even angels feel.

These were the things that Kaworu could not comprehend: when it seemed your head was suddenly filled with light and your chest with cotton, when you were dizzy but satisfied, when it was like your heart was swelling and you could not do anything but smile. It was beautiful. It was what happened whenever Kaworu heard Ode to Joy. It was everything that made up Shinji.

Kaworu would die a thousand times over for Shinji—is well on his way to doing so, giving his track record so far. Shinji. Shinji. The image of his face falls in time with Kaworu’s heartbeat, thrumming along with his pulse. Shinji. The boy Kaworu has died for, but has only seen smile a handful of times.

Right now he knows that Shinji is suffering. He knows that Shinji is splintering slowly, one piece at a time, under the Eva’s fury and his own insecurities and his father’s pride. Confusion, anger, deceit, betrayal. These are not things Kaworu knows, but he has learnt them all as he witnesses world after world capitalize on Shinji Ikari’s pain. When he wants to go to sleep at night, Kaworu stares into the darkness and whispers everything he wants to but can never say to Shinji.

I want to help you.

I am sorry the world has brought you so much pain.

I want to help you.

I am sorry I can’t.

The knowledge that he has, on every occasion, been a cause for Shinji’s suffering is acutely painful and burns, cracks his heart like a needle of white hot flame. It is sadness, it is self-loathing, it is fear. It is the warning that he needs to do better, that things can never end this way again. Yet they inevitably always do.

The only good thing about me is that I love you.

He loves Shinji in a way so overwhelming that the only way it can be described is that Kaworu Nagisa loves Shinji Ikari. The moment he had first seen the dark-haired boy standing at the train station, the dark blue colour of Shinji’s eyes. Every memory, every scene, every burst of affection and wasted word were all simple details in the grand scheme of Kaworu’s love for Shinji Ikari.

“Everything,” Kaworu finds himself saying, whispering in a room where nobody could hear and life was miles away, buried deep in the transience of this timeline. “Everything that’s done…is done for you.” You flashes through his mind faster than he can even think it, Shinji and the tears on his face as he watches Kaworu die, as he cradles Kaworu in his hand and crushes him. Shinji’s name slips out without Kaworu meaning to, in a low breath that flutters over his lips, and the sound of Shinji’s name soaking into the air, into his bones.

“Shinji,” Kaworu says again and another image flashes by him, Shinji with him in the baths during one of his first times there, his face flushed from heat and the feeling of Kaworu’s palm curled over his knuckles. Kaworu remembers that time with the same vivid clarity that he remembers every time they touch, but there’s a special edge to the memory as well. 

‘Your heart is fragile like glass.’ Kaworu had said. 

‘In other words, I love you.’ Kaworu had said that, too.

“I love you,” Kaworu says aloud, and the words hang flatly in the air, alien and unfamiliar without Shinji to hear them. At first he’d thought it was enough, loving Shinji Ikari, enough to send him to his grave with a smile on his face, but it wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he loved Shinji, Shinji needed to be happy. Shinji needed to understand how worthy he was of love. 

And a small, dangerous part of him added that he wanted Shinji’s love as well.

He understood how the lilim showed their love—in different ways, with different people. He didn’t know enough to classify the love he had for Shinji (if it could be even classified at all), just that below his awe for everything that Shinji stood for there was a longing as well, something that was most peculiar. It was a shivering want to touch parts of Shinji’s body, like his cheeks and his mouth and his ear. It was the way Shinji looked into his eyes and Kaworu couldn’t see anything but the colour of his irises and the softness of his smile. It was something that he had experienced a long, long time ago, when he was a boy and Shinji was breathing too hard and in trouble, the contact at which their lips met and they became one. 

It had been electrical. Maddening. Confusing.

Kaworu had wanted to do it again. Not in the way he had the first time, in the dark and with Shinji’s handprint seared across his chest when he pushed him away. He wanted Shinji to look into his eyes again and take his hand, gently, feeling each ridge of bone in the musculature of their fingers. He wanted Shinji to say ‘Kaworu,’, in that soft, beautiful voice of his, wanted to see the blush high on Shinji’s cheeks and the warmth of his gaze. Wanted to lean forward and just—  
Kaworu imagines Shinji’s lips are tentative at first, shyness in their movements in the same way he would duck his gaze and flutter his fingers whenever they had met. They are soft and it makes Kaworu press forward harder, so he can feel them moving against his own. Their mouths move open naturally and suddenly it’s a kiss, it’s a deep kiss, and they’re both leaning forward as their bodies press close. They move against each other and Kaworu’s hand is cupping Shinji’s face, feeling the skin of his cheek heat up against his palm. 

Kaworu’s hand is creeping along the waistband of his pants before he realizes it, but he doesn’t spend time pondering it as he thinks of the heat of Shinji’s mouth again, wondering what the skin of his throat tastes like.

Kaworu thinks of his throat, Shinji’s throat, with its shadows and fine tendons moving when Shinji swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple and the curves and dips where it flows down to the hollow of his collarbone. He wants to lick it and touch it all over, spread his fingers over the edges of his muscles and ride the motions of them when Shinji is speaking. Kaworu’s hand slips below his underpants, his belt thrown to the floor, and when his fingers brush over his penis he moans partly in surprise at how unexpectedly good it feels, stroking the heated flesh there. 

By now wearing pants are uncomfortable so he shucks them. On second thought he tugs off his underwear, too, until it’s hanging off his left knee. Without the constrictions of clothing his penis looks strange and bare, curiously standing on its own. When Kaworu experimentally closes his hand around it and squeezes, a jolt runs though him and the image of where the curve of Shinji’s neck meets his shoulder once again runs through his mind.

He imagines kissing that juncture, tasting the sweat and the scent of Shinji’s skin. He wonders how Shinji would react, if that tickled or if it felt good to him. Kaworu thinks of Shinji doing the same, the wet heat of Shinji’s mouth passing over his throat and sucking on the skin, and he sucks in a breath that’s hot and short and too much all at once. Kaworu’s hand almost starts moving of his own accord, cautiously up and down, and it feels good it feels very good and he doesn’t have any way to describe it other than good.

“Shinji,” Kaworu says, and the sound of his name makes him hotter, strangely breathless as Kaworu thinks about Shinji and his underwear is around his knee and his hand is at the juncture between his thighs. “Shinji,” Kaworu says again, and it comes out as more of a whine, high-pitched and drawn out as Kaworu’s hand squeezes and he suddenly remembers every vivid detail of Shinji in the bath, the naked skin of his back and the angle of his hipbones. 

There are sounds leaving him now, strange, half-choked little moaning sounds that force their way out as Kaworu thinks of Shinji’s hand hot on his hipbone, curving around the knob of the bone and the tips of his fingers splayed on his skin, Shinji’s hand squeezing while their tongues lick at each other. Kaworu thinks he’s panting, too. The air isn’t coming in fast enough as he and Shinji are suddenly naked and their chests are pressed against each other, their legs twined and bumping into each other’s knees as Kaworu’s hands are traveling along the perfect plane of Shinji’s stomach. Shinji’s hand is in his hair, Shinji’s hands are curled in his hair and they are pulling, pulling him closer as if he can’t bear to be away and Kaworu is moaning into the crook of Shinji’s neck. 

Suddenly his hand is moving faster as Kaworu thinks of the naked skin of their chests touching, Shinji’s body heat searing into his own and his toes running up the hard bone of Kaworu’s shin; they’re kissing again and Shinji is beautiful, Shinji is heat and tongue and lip cutting across his own, the flush on his cheeks is back and Kaworu’s knows it’s just because of him, not the steam of the bathhouse. Shinji is touching his waist and chest and body; Shinji’s palm is flat against his back and moving downwards and Kaworu is touching every inch that he can find, everything beautiful and good because Shinji is made of everything he was born to destroy. 

Kaworu is wriggling, squirming; he half tears the buttons off his shirt as he slides his other hand up his stomach. When they find his nipple he gasps, imagines Shinji flicking his thumbnail over them and circling the skin with the tips of his fingers. He then thinks of something else entirely, that it’s Shinji’s hand suddenly moving up and down and squeezing, swirling his thumb over the head and cupping the base. Everything is Shinji, his fingers running down the hot skin as his body presses against Kaworu’s; Shinji looks up into Kaworu’s eyes with his face red and eyes shining and lips wet and he smiles—and everything in Kaworu seizes up and climaxes into thunder and darkness and stars while Shinji's name comes out of him in ragged pants and moans. He can hear a moan leaving his throat, filling his ears as his hips jerk and his hand keeps moving, trying to preserve every detail of Shinji’s image even as the tension slowly leaves him and his limbs relax, unspooling into a strange light peacefulness. 

There is something wet and white cooling on his hand and along the skin of his stomach. It’s viscous and white and tastes strange, slightly salty. Kaworu’s pants are still thrown on the ground and he knows he should pick them up and clean himself, but he can’t seem to do it, still caught in a haze of foggy emotion. 

“Shinji,” Kaworu murmurs again, because it’s all he can seem to do. In the end, everything came down to Shinji—the dying, the deaths, the heat that had moved in electric jolts down his spine and was now cooling on his hand.

“Shinji,” Kaworu whispers, thinking of the warmth of his hand as a newfound determination seems to creep into him. “This time, I swear I’ll make you happy.”


End file.
